When The Full Moon Rises
by OldParchment
Summary: Jack is a young testosterone charged werewolf. He sold his soul to become one. Usually he does everything his master tells him to do, but when Jack is unable to kill an innocent girl and complete the job his world is turned upside down. This is his story
1. Chapter 1 My name is Jack

December 2, 2012

What was I thinking? Obviously I wasn't thinking much. Luck and sketchy tactics had gotten me this far but it wasn't going to make me win the final round. I had to rely on my heart and my balls maybe even a little brains as well. I was bleeding badly. I could feel the life force slowly ebb out of my every being. The other guy, well he was limping and that was about it. I still had a chance because dogfights are unpredictable, yeah that's right I still had a fighting chance. I could feel the the anticipation of the crowd. A thousand packed sweaty bodies and twice the number of eyes all had their attention on us. They were just as blood thirsty as we were. The fight had been drawn out, we were tired and the crowd was impatient. Someone had to die and hopefully that someone wasn't going to be me. My opponent was half transformed. He had claws and he had teeth. I was still in my human form as I had not yet mastered the art of controlled transformation. So obviously he had the upper hand. He threw back his lupine head and let out a howl that I could feel in the bottom of my stomach. We circled each other slowly. Our liquid gold eyes were locked together. This was it. He lunged towards me I easily side stepped his attack. He plunged to the floor. I saw my chance and took it like the opportunist I was. I jumped onto his body pinning him to the floor. I grabbed his lupine head and twisted it in right then left in one fluid motion. He was dead. It was over.

I lifted the corpses head up and took out a knife from the back of my pocket. With speed you could only dream of having I sliced off his head. I lifted it by the scruff of the neck and presented it to the crowd. They starred in awestruck silence. No one believed I was going to win, fuck, I couldn't believe I just won. I raised my head and howled. The arena went wild. The grotesque wolf men hammered there feet against the floor, cheered, and growled. A gave a bloody grin. Victory was mine. I must have been a sight; matted hair, blood stained body, and holding decapitated head.

Up in the booths where only the most privileged sat, a large white wolf stood out amongst the crowd, the alfa male. My gaze brought me to the wolf who sat on a plush satin cushion. Soon in a series of graceful turns he transformed himself into a man. As he rose the crowd fell silent once again. We all waited for a speech but no words were ushered from his pale lips. His crimson eyes bore into me. The urge to look away from his stare was very tempting but I didn't. He raised a hand and tossed something over the myriads of people. It glinted in the lurid orange glow of artificial lighting. It came hurdling at me and I raised my unoccupied hand to catch it. When I opened my hand what I saw was a sapphire attached to a chain. I draped it around my head and pumped my fist in the air. The crowd once again screamed at the top of their lungs. The alfa male seated himself.

Suddenly I felt Dizzy. I knew I had lost a dangerous amount of blood. Fatigue came over me. It wasn't long till I collapsed on the hard stone floor of the stage. All was dark. I had won the dogfights.

In case you haven't figured it out for yourself, yes, I'm a werewolf ,but we prefer to be called simply wolves. My name is Jack. I'm 22 years old but I have been 22 for a long time now. Still, my kin consider me a cub and in many ways I'm unused to this whole immortal thing. What do I look like? Well I'm Caucasian, 6.2 ft, umm dark brown hair, you get the picture. My eyes are what give me away. You see once you are bitten you eyes turn this gold color. It doesn't matter if you're in wolf form or human form the eyes stay the same. Of course to the average joe the gold eyes would just be some genetic defect but a demon could figure out it was a werewolf any day. Thank god for colored contacts. Another thing I should mention is my tattoos. All wolves have tattoos. They tell a story of your life. For every achievement, every milestone, every epiphany a tattoo is there to accompany it.

The base of all wolves was New York City. You wouldn't believe how much supernatural things goes down here. The great thing is the people are totally oblivious to it. The people are to jaded and busy to look up because they have to avoid dog shit on the pavement or something like that. Are location is underground. Back in the cold war the mayor of New York built an underground bomb shelter that is about the size of the Buckingham palace.


	2. Chapter 2 Continue Chapter 1

Note: this is actually just where Chapter I was cut short but for the sake of it let's call it Chapter II

For us it was like home sweet home and the base of the wolf kind empire. It was the perfect hiding place. Only a few mortals (it sounds so cliché calling them that) new about its location. They were also few politicians whom we dealt with and thanks to them we have survived the 20th century undetected. We often have had to do favors or 'jobs' so to speak in return, but I will get to that later.

The dog fights only happen every eight years much like the presidential election. It is a test of strength, endurance, courage and will. Anyone is permitted to compete but few do and those that enter are either fools or the toughest fuckers this life has to offer. Everyone thought I was the fool. Well you can see how wrong they were. The champion gets lavished with rank and power but oddly not wealth. This was mostly due to the fact that material had little value to us. The only thing that mattered was weapons, war relics and trophies. I guess you could call the sapphire a trophy then. If we needed anything then we took it. Avarice was not one of our vices but we had plenty of others to make up for it.

The white wolf I so carefully described to you, the Alfa-Male is the leader of the pack, the father to us all. His name is Hotah. No one knows much about him. He doesn't speak much and when he does it's hardly ever about himself. All we know is that he was one of the Fore Fathers of Wolves, one of the last remaining Ancients. He was part of a tribe called the Nakota, a people long forgotten. He was born an albino and much like a white bison he was held sacred.

At the time I was just a 'cub' a or a newbie. It was the first time in the history of wolves that a cub won the dog fights. That made me somewhat of a wonder. I don't think nobody or anybody noticed me before. Not until this night.

When you look at me you might see a young man just like any other, but look closely and if you have any sense, any intuition you might see the animal that lies inside the man. Don't stare too long or I might catch your eye and then you best run.


End file.
